


The Good Boy Pizza Appreciation Society

by yamyamyam



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Belly Rubs, Canon-Typical Violence, Grumpycat Bucky, I mean wolf, M/M, Only the dog version, Pizza NOT A DOG, Praise Kink, Protective Clint Barton, THEY ARE DEFINITELY WOLVES, WHO ARE NOT DOGS, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, assholes in love, good boys, growl, pizza dog - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 08:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18232511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamyamyam/pseuds/yamyamyam
Summary: When Natasha quits for mysterious reasons, Clint gives up SHIELD for a cabin in the woods and a part-time archery job. This is the life, right? If only the life weren't so lonely. When a dog shows up at his back porch, it's like a dream come true.Bucky's investigating rumours of a wolf-hunter preying on his pack. Instead he finds an archer who only seems to hunt pizza. What's really going on? And why can't he stop going back for belly rubs?





	1. Chapter 1

Clint's moving to a cabin. After 10 years as a spy, breaking ten times that many bones, and the final straw, his long-time partner's decision to quit and go back to her roots, whatever _that_ means, he was done. Done-zo. El finito. End o' the line. Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag. Pining for the fjords. 

Fjords. Maybe that's where Nat went. They worked cheek by jowl for 8 of those 10 years, and then poof, she just vanishes after her 2 weeks notice is up. Before she left he asked for more details, but she was cryptic even for her, just repeating "it's time to go back to my roots." Fine, plant-woman, root forth, you do you.

But he misses her. And his heart wasn't in it after that. Phil didn't look too surprised when he came in to tell him he was leaving too. Disappointed maybe, but not surprised. 

The living out here is cheap, and the kicker, the real allure, are the employment prospects. It's not like he can put "secret agent" on his résumé, and even if he did, he's not sure he wants the jobs he'd get that way. But in the little town up the road there is an archery range whose owner wants to semi-retire, and after ten minutes of chatting with the guy while idly shooting bullseyes without looking at the target, he was hired on the spot. Part-time in winter, plus the odd private lesson for rich blowhards with fantasies of bowhunting mighty game, and then full-time in summer running archery camps for kids while their harried parents day-drink and enjoy the lake. Archery camps! Who knew that was a thing? Maybe in another world where Clint had had a normal childhood he would have been one of the kids attending, learning to shoot in a normal way instead of running away to the circus and having the choice of learn something flashy or shovel elephant shit forever. But in his heart Clint is pretty sure there was never going to be anything normal about his life, even if his parents' marriage hadn't been a whisky-soaked dumpster fire. Weird luck, good and bad, has always followed him. Often tripping him and breaking his nose, but also putting banana peels in just the right place to escape danger. Metaphorically speaking. There was only a literal banana peel the one time, not that Nat ever let him forget about it afterwards. Clint sighs. Nat... but she's gone. Look forward. Put on one of those dorky zen kayak t-shirts saying There Is Nothing Behind You. 

And forward looks pretty amazing. His cozy little cabin, his scruffy truck, and the chance to make his living with archery? Dream life, right? The cabin was $22,000, all in, and after ten years of living in New York this felt like a fake price. That's it? That's not... the damage deposit or something? He had enough left over from his life savings—which is to say his payout of ten years of unused SHIELD vacation pay, Clint isn't really organized enough to have something like "life savings"—to buy a shitty-looking but sturdy as hell pick-up truck. It's just used enough not to make him look like an asshole, but not so old it won't start in winter. He's already got his first two awesome bumper stickers: IT'S JUST A FLETCH WOUND and ARCHERS MAKE ME QUIVER. 

This, friends, is the life.

If only the life wasn't so damn lonely.

=====

Bucky shakes himself until the last of the burrs tumble out of his chest hair. It's always easier to dislodge them once he shifts. Hitchhiker-free, he shrugs in to a sweatshirt and some track pants to go see what Steve wants. Probably extra sentry coverage. Steve's been the pack alpha for less than a decade, little enough time that he still takes his responsibilities very, very seriously. Actually, maybe it's not the short tenure. Bucky's been Steve's best friend since they were pups, hundreds of years gone, and he's never been anything but intense about... well, everything.

He runs in to Natasha coming out of Steve's hut just as he's arriving. She's naked except for the arrow necklace she likes to wear in both her shapes—she must be about to head out on an errand from Steve in wolf form. 

"'lo, Tasha."

"James." 

"Is Steve calling everyone up? There won't be room for us all on the perimeter if he keeps bumping security up."

"Mm, I think he has something else in mind for you." Natasha has a cryptic smile on, so it must be a day that ends in Y.

"That so?" Bucky raises his eyebrows mildly, but he's known Natasha too long to take the bait and try to get any information out of her. If she felt like sharing, he'd know. Bucky actually manages to get more information out of her than most people just by never asking. Whether this is affection or contrariness on her part is hard to say.

Natasha smiles and shifts, the loose necklace turning in to a snug, nearly invisible collar. An arrow. He's wondered about that since she first came home with it, 6 or 7 years ago, but... Natasha. So he's never asked, and this is one story she's never volunteered to tell.

Natasha pins him with one of her looks, her uncanny, almost colourless eyes stark against her russet coat. She chuffs and runs off.

Bucky shakes his head and goes in to Steve's hut.

=====

Clint's not much one for hunting. He doesn't mind teaching people how, but the animal guts part has never appealed to him. He does pick up a Bright! Fucking! Orange! hunting jacket at the surplus store for lessons, though, and spends a couple days being very, very visible, beating the bounds of his property, putting up PRIVATE PROPERTY—NO HUNTING notices. Because he'll be damned if he's going to get shot in his own little Robin Hood park. He gets a dreamy look in his eyes just thinking about that. Maybe he'll put a little bridge over the stream that cuts through the back corner of the lot, in case anyone wants to have a quarterstaff duel. In the meantime, he puts up targets here and there through the woods, and works out a nice circuit of hiking and shooting for days when he doesn't feel like just working with the straight-up shooting lane he has set up along the driveway. God, this place is perfect. And no landlord to charge him for repairs when arrows go through walls or cut off someone's cable or spell out rude words because he's bored. Heck yeah.

=====

"You wanted to see me?" Bucky ducks as he enters Steve's hut, and stays crouched. For all that Steve is an _enormous_ wolf, his human form is almost child-like, a frail-looking blond who barely reaches Bucky's shoulders in height, with no muscles to speak of. But his heart is pure righteous fury, and his wolf form reflects it; he earned his position as pack leader the way it's always been done: in a full-on drag-down fight, beating out a dozen contenders who dwarf him in man shape.

Bucky wasn't one of them. He'd never been fooled by the tiny exterior, even when they were both too young to shift and no one knew yet what a mismatch Steve's wolf was for his human body. Bucky wasn't surprised when it happened that first time; it had just felt right, a match for the earnest ferocity he'd seen in Steve since birth.

"I have a job for you, Buck."

"Sentry? You've just about got a conga line out there already, Stevie."

He huffs. "No, something a little sneakier. There's a rumour that there's a wolf hunter in the neighbourhood."

Bucky growls and sits down, to temper his urge to pace. A hunter..! Bucky's never been one to spend much time in the outside world. He didn't follow Steve out for World War II, and only left after that to try, in vain, to find where his body had gone, because he must have been dead to have not returned when the human war ended. Now that he has Steve back, he doesn't want to leave again for anything. But... a hunter changes things. A hunter brings the outside world to them. To their dens and huts. To their pups.

Steve nods approvingly at Bucky's low growl. "Two wolves have gone missing. I want you to go investigate. And if the rumours are true... to take care of it, or come back for a hunting party."

"Just me?" Bucky's only curious; he doesn't mind being alone. His senses are keen even for a wolf; he's always been the scout when they hunt, and over the years has found that the quiet work suits him. 

"I was going to send Tony and Sam, actually, and let you nap in peace, old man, but Natasha suggested I just send you. Actually, she said "Send Bucky. He'll like what he finds." and then refused to elaborate. I hate it when she does that." Steve could have had it out of her by asking; he's the alpha, and Nat would show throat. She's dangerous as hell, but she isn't ambitious of the pack leadership. But Steve is such a good leader in part because he knows when not to push. "But she's almost always right."

"I'll like what I find. Huh. Oddly I don't find that comforting."

"When is she ever comforting? But you know she wouldn't send you in to something dangerous. At least, not dangerous to you."

If there is a hunter, it'll damn well be dangerous to them, Bucky thinks. Well, what the hell, this sounds like a nice way to blow off some steam.

"Where do I go?"

Steve smiles and they confer briefly over an aged topo map pinned to Steve's table. Steve shifts, his wolf form dominating the small space. Bucky crouches down and exposes his throat unworriedly; Steve holds it gently in his jaw for a moment, then, form observed, chuffs happily at Bucky. Bucky scritches behind Steve's ears before setting aside his clothes and shifting himself, taking off in the direction of the supposed wolf-hunter.

A wolf-hunter. Why would Natasha think he'd like that? Maybe hunters taste good. Well, he'll find out soon enough.

=====

Two hours of easy loping takes Bucky to the area Steve had indicated. He can smell a human presence; this must be it; but he also notes the game animals are untroubled by it. Odd. If this is a hunter, they—he, the smell is definitely male—he doesn't hunt for food. 

So just a wolf hunter, then. Bucky growls almost subvocally.

He follows the strongest scent trail and comes to a cabin. He can't hear or smell anyone inside; he settles in to a hide to wait for the hunter to return.

=====

Clint's had a pretty great week. It's autumn, and the chill in the air is driving more business to the indoor archery range. The scenery is gorgeous, and he's able to indulge in one of his favourite pastimes: waiting for leaves to fall and pinning them with arrows before they hit the ground. He's won enough beers with this trick that no one will bet him any more—he'll have to move on to darts. Today he's decided to drive out to the larger town an hour out to stock up on groceries and get some fresh pizza, heck yeah, so his truck smells _amazing_.

=====

The vehicle is discordant, angry-sounding to Bucky's ears. He'd forgotten just how loud they were. The hunter pulls up to the cabin, humming happily, and takes a huge box inside the cabin. Is it food? Something smells nice, anyway. 

He settles back down in his hide, hoping the hunter will oblige him with a show of intent. Bucky really doesn't want to have to do this in human form.

Sure enough, an hour later the man emerges from the cabin, a bow in hand, a quiver slung over his shoulder. Bow and arrow? Is this guy for real? If this is the wolf hunter, Bucky is almost insulted. He stalks along behind him as the hunter heads down one of the scent trails Bucky had noticed earlier. He starts... whistling?

Somewhere Natasha is laughing her tail off at him, Bucky is certain. She was right that one wolf was enough to deal with this bumbling pseudo-threat. 

He's brought up short a few minutes later when the man stops to shoot at a target nailed to a tree. Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye. He whistles some more, casually pulls the deeply embedded arrows out of the target, and carries on to another target, this one higher up and obscured by branches that wave back and forth in front of it in the evening's light breeze. Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye. Nothing so much as touches a branch; the arrows slip through the tiniest gap as it is revealed. The man jumps up, catches a branch with one hand, pulls himself up and lands on the branch with a flip, and pulls the arrows out. He jumps down, somersaulting twice mid-air, seemingly just for the joy of it, and lands softly in a crouch before continuing on his whistling way.

Bucky understands less and less of this by the minute.

Whistling man shoots a target full of bullseyes with his back turned. Another hanging upside down from a branch. Another he shoots his three bullseyes all at once, with three arrows nocked simultaneously. 

Well. Maybe a bow and arrow _could_ bring down a wolf. A deaf wolf who didn't hear him whistling from two miles away, anyway.

Still, this pretty much nails it. This is the spot Steve named; here is a human who is absolutely a hunter; Bucky's got a job to do. He discards the idea of going back for a hunting party. Bow or no, he can handle this alone.

He creeps along after the man as he heads back home, intending to pounce in the clearing before the cabin where his motion won't be constrained by trees. But just as they reach it, the man whips around and fixes Bucky with a grin. "Oh man, a dog! I was wondering what was following me! BEST DAY EVER!"

Bucky pauses. He was ready to strike an unprepared target. He was ready to take down a hostile opponent. He was... not ready for a big hug.

But that's what he's getting, and an ear scritch and a... Bucky is NOT twitching his leg as his belly is rubbed. He's NOT. 

"What a pretty black pupper you are! You don't have a collar, hey buddy? Want to stay with me?"

What.

"Hmm, I think you look like a... Lucky! I'll call you Lucky. What do you say, Lucky?"

Bucky shakes himself free, huffs in confusion, turns, and runs in to the woods.

"Aw, Lucky, no."

=====

A dog! Clint hadn't even thought about getting a dog out here, but now that he's seen one, it feels like the best, most perfect idea ever. He's never been able to have a pet before. His dad would probably have killed one. The foster system was not exactly conducive to the concept. At the circus having an extra mouth to feed that wasn't like, a lion, something that made money, was a non-starter. And as an agent he was constantly out of town; if he'd had a dog it would have been in a kennel two thirds of the time, and that's no life for a dog.

But now? He's in a cabin! Hell, he could take a dog to work with him, no one at the range would care. 

There's a pound an hour's drive away, so if this doesn't work out he can always go there, but Clint's more than a little in love with the idea of the dog in his forest just appearing to him, a gift from the dog fairies. He seemed to like the petting—he must have been someone's pet at some point—but no collar means he's fair game, right? He's just got to figure out how to lure him back in.

=====

Bucky digs himself a shallow temporary den and spends a night in great perplexity. What the hell was that? If he's a wolf hunter, why can't he _identify a fucking wolf?_ Bucky may not be as big as Steve, but he's definitely not dog-sized. He's mean and tough and wild and why can't he stop thinking about a belly rub.

God, once he gets back to the pack he really needs to get laid. If a belly rub from a _hunter_ feels this good, he is in a serious touch slump.

The next morning he gets himself ready to surveil the hunter a bit more. He's decided to back off the immediate plan of tearing his throat out until he figures out what the hell his deal is. He's no longer totally sure this guy is a threat to the pack. To Bucky's dignity, maybe. The pack... let's see if he uses those arrows for something livelier than a wooden target.

He approaches the cabin, more warily than before, but the hunter is not in sight. What is in sight, though...

In the clearing behind the cabin is a big metal bowl full of that smell from the truck. Is that... for him? A raccoon is industriously tearing off chunks of whatever it is. Bucky indignantly trots up and huffs at the coon, who slinks off with insulting slowness. Raccoons, pfft. They're lucky they taste so bad.

Bucky sniffs the contents of the bowl. It smells amazing. Too amazing. This isn't Bucky's first interaction with humans; although it has been a long time since his trips out looking for Steve. But he knows about poison. They're taught about poison as pups, long before they're ever allowed out of the pack's hidden village.

He bats at the bowl a few times, then retreats to the woods to watch in silence. The raccoon stays away, but he sends a badger and then some squirrels on their way as the day goes on. He's not going to eat it, but it's _his_. This is a matter of professional pride.

After noon, the human comes out to the back porch and starts shouting. "Lucky! LUCKYYYYY!"

He gives up after an annoyingly long time and traipses out to the bowl. "Aw, boy, I guess you don't like pizza, huh," and _sits down and starts to eat it._

That's... what... but...

Bucky doesn't even think, just darts forward and snatches a piece of the... pizza? from the bowl, then edges back, eyeing the man warily. 

"Or I guess you do! Hi boy! I missed you!"

Bucky runs off in to the woods.

Back at his shallow den, he shifts, and looks the pizza over. The man was eating it himself; it can't be poison. It's cold, and the meat chunks on it are cooked, but it still smells fantastic. He hesitantly nibbles at an edge.

Oh hey now.

This is... this ain't bad at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint tries not to get too excited and fails. Lucky came back! Lucky likes pizza! They are obviously meant for each other, right?

Clint leaves out more pizza.

=====

Bucky intends to leave the next batch of pizza alone, but when some coyotes come to sniff at it, he finds himself irrationally angry. That's HIS pizza, from HIS human. He walks up, growling, and the coyotes scatter. He takes the pizza, and eats it back at his den, trying very, very hard not to examine his motivations.

=====

Clint didn't manage to see Lucky this time, but the pizza was gone. That was probably his pizza dog, right?

Clint leaves out more pizza, but this time gets ready for it like it's a mission. He puts on his black tac gear and settles in to a hide in a tree just inside the forest, in eyeshot of the bowl.

It's hours later when some fat raccoons wander up to the bowl—aw, raccoons, no. He's debating whether to give up and go rescue the pizza from them when Lucky appears, chases the raccoons off, and snags the pizza, bounding off in to the woods with it. Hah!

Clint takes off after him. He takes it slow, not trying to keep up with the dog—he'd spook him, crashing around at that speed—just following tracks. He'd mostly used his tracking skills in urban environments on the job, but enough of it had been in godforsaken woods in the middle of nowhere in Europe that he was able to follow without too much difficulty. Cutting sign was made easier by the way Lucky was dripping bits of tomato sauce.

Towards the edge of his property, he hears what might be the demise of some delicious pizza. He grins and gets ready to pull out his best dog petting game. Time to make a good impression!

He creeps toward the sound, then freezes. Where he was expecting to find his pizza dog, there is... a naked man eating pizza. Lucky's pizza. Bastard!

Clint nocks an arrow without thinking and shoots the pizza out of the man's hand, pinning it to a tree. 

"Where the hell is my dog, you pizza thief!"

The man looks indignant. "I'm not your dog!"

Clint is a bit thrown by this. "Of course you're not my dog! That's why I asked where he is! You're eating his pizza! Pizza stealer!"

The man blinks. He blinks some more. "Look, I can explain."

"You've got ten seconds, naked pizza stealer guy."

"Uh. It'll take more like... 90 seconds?"

Clint blinks. He was not really expecting a negotiation. "Uh. Okay, 90 seconds, go nuts. But this better be good."

"Promise me you won't shoot me for 90 seconds? It's just... the explanation is pretty weird."

Clint rolls his eyes. "Cross my heart."

Bucky cocks an eyebrow dubiously.

Clint huffs. "I swear by my bow."

"You could just buy another bow."

"This is already taking more than 90 seconds."

"Swear by... pizza."

"By... pizza?"

"Yes. Swear that you'll never eat pizza again if you shoot me during my 90-second, freaky but non-violent explanation."

Clint pauses, sensing a trap, but this has gotten so weird that he's too curious to stop now. "Okay. I solemnly swear before God and my freezing butt that I will give up pizza, forever, if I shoot you during your fucked up powerpoint or whatever."

A power what now? Nevermind, figure it out later. Bucky shifts. 

Clint's jaw drops.

Bucky shifts back.

Clint runs forward to hug him. "LUCKY!!! It's you!"

This is not how Bucky envisioned this conversation ending. Bucky had, honestly, not foreseen any aspect of this whole situation, but this would definitely not have made the short list of plausible conversation forks if he had tried to plan for it.

"Lucky! Oh man, I was so worried that you had been hurt by... uh... yourself? But I'm so glad you're okay!" The man seems unperturbed by his dog suddenly being a naked man. Bucky envies him his equanimity.

"It's Bucky."

"Huh?"

"Bucky. My name is Bucky, not Lucky. Lucky is a dumb name." 

"But Bucky isn't? They're like, one letter apart."

Bucky starts growling low in his throat.

"Okay, okay! Bucky! Your name is Bucky!"

Bucky stops growling, mollified.

"Aren't you kinda... cold like that?"

Even in human form, Bucky is a hairy guy, with a serious five o'clock shadow going on, but he's naked, and as evening sets in, the breeze is a mite... penetrating. 

Clint's balls huddle in horrified sympathy. He's cold and he's wearing three layers of clothing.

"Well, I wasn't planning on staying in this shape this long, but SOMEONE interrupted my pizza time. Which, by the way, why leave me pizza if you were just going to come steal it back?" Bucky has rescued the pizza from the tree it was pinned to, looking reproachfully at Clint.

"I didn't want it back! I just thought you stole it from, uh, you. I missed Lucky. You. Bucky." 

"Oh." 

"Do you. Uh. Do you want to come back with me? I have more pizza. And a fire and stuff."

Bucky blinks. Is he not even going to _ask_ about the werewolf thing?

Aw, fuck it, he _is_ cold, and the idea of pizza in front of a fire is making him salivate. 

"Okay."

Bucky hands the slobbery cold pizza to Clint and shifts. Clint grins hugely, takes a big bite of the pizza, and turns back the way he came. 

Whistling.

=====

They've been eating pizza—warm pizza! It's even better warm!—by the fire for fifteen minutes in silence when Bucky cracks.

"Are you not going to ask?"

"Aff whu?" Clint says, around the entire slice of pepperoni he has just managed to fit in his mouth.

"About..." Bucky gestures at himself.

Clint swallows. "Nope."

"No?"

"Nope!"

"You're not... curious why someone can transform from animal to human and back?"

"Oh, well, yeah. I mean, that's pretty unusual."

"Then why--"

"Listen. You're not the first really weird thing I've run in to. Magic. Aliens. Hell, I lived in a circus for ten years. And you know what I learned? The more I find out about it, the worse things go for me. And you're a _dog_. I really, really don't want you to" Clint waves his hands around vaguely "poof and disappear. You're a dream come true, I don't want to screw this up!"

"I'm not a DOG. I'm a WOLF."

"Okay, you can be a wolf."

Bucky glares. Clint grins happily, still soaking in his DOGGGGGGGGO glee, glare bouncing harmlessly off his bubble of happiness.

"Anyway," Clint says, picking onions off of his next pizza slice and setting them to the side. "Would you tell me if I asked?"

Bucky looks affronted. "No! It's a secret."

"See?" Clint nods. "That's settled then." Clint is happy not to push it. He worked with Natasha for 8 years. He can cope with ambiguity.

Bucky frowns harder, then eats all of Clint's onions. "Hmph."

"So. Do you want to be a dog again so I can pet you? I'm a really good dog petter!"

"I'M NOT A DOG."

Clint makes puppydog eyes.

Bucky glares.

Bucky glares some more.

Bucky growls a bit.

Clint bats his eyelashes.

Bucky shifts and rolls over. Clint dives in happily to administer a belly rub.

"You're the best, Lucky!" Bucky snaps his teeth at him at that, not making contact. Quite. "Bucky! I mean Bucky. You're the best, boy." Clint scratches all the itchy spots on Bucky's head and shoulders like he can feel them on his own skin. Bucky relaxes in to it despite his own better judgement. He... he is a really good petter.

Bucky really, _really_ needs to get laid when he gets home.

=====

Bucky trots out the door before full dark, and finds a new spot to dig a temporary den, now that the previous one has been discovered. He's a little shaken, now that he's out of the immediate purview of the... hunter? Maybe he's not a hunter. The man, then.

He resolutely does not go near the cabin the next day, even though he can hear distantly the man calling his name. Well, sometimes his name. It's about 25% Lucky to 75% Bucky. Bucky shakes himself and hunts a hare, eats it raw, trying to seat himself in his wolfness. It helps a little. But part of him wants onions to go with it.

=====

Clint is disconsolate when Bucky doesn't come the next night, but he's a sniper; he can be patient. He drives out to the next big town after work again to stock up on fresh pizza. He's got a freezer full of oven pizza, but might as well get the good stuff for operation Get A Dog. Clint studiously avoids eye contact with the memory that the dog is also a hot naked dude part-time. I mean, that's just a bonus, right? They can talk about Dog Cops in between walks and playing fetch and pets. 

As the sun is setting, he calls out to Bucky just once, and leaves the metal bowl on the back porch with a slice of pizza in it. If he wants more, he can knock. Clint knows the irresistible allure of demon pizza.

Well, irresistible to Clint. But Bucky seemed to like it.

He sits by the kitchen window and smiles when he hears snuffling on the porch. 

=====

Bucky is strong. He takes the single slice of pizza Clint leaves for him, and almost, almost whines at the door to be let in for more, he can _smell_ more inside. But he's a wild creature with centuries of patience and toughness. He's weathered hundreds more barren winters than Clint has lived years. He can resist pizza.

Bucky whines at the door to be let in for more.

=====

Clint trips over a pair of boots in his haste to get to the door. Alarmed at the noise, Bucky has darted back halfway across the clearing when he does get there. "Sorry, sorry! I'm a bit clumsy. Come in! If you still want pizza?"

Bucky pauses, furious at himself for not finding this a hard decision to make. But it's not. He trots up to the porch and in the back door.

"Good boy!" Clint says, reaching out to scritch Bucky's ears before he even gets as far as growling at that.

Well he is a good boy, damnit. 

He shifts and sits at the kitchen table, eating pizza in silence for a while. Clint, who has already eaten, sits opposite him with his elbows on the table, chin resting in his hands, grinning. 

"What."

"I'm just happy you came back!"

Bucky snorts, and goes back to grimly eating pizza.

"I'm Clint, by the way! Did I tell you that already?"

Bucky swallows. "Clint."

"Yeah! Smart boy!"

Bucky drops his pizza and growls. "Could you NOT."

"Not what?"

"One. I'm not a dog. Two. I'm not an _idiot._ Don't smart boy me." Bucky leaves the issue of "good boy" carefully vague. He... might not mind that.

Clint blinks. "Okay!"

Bucky stares at him suspiciously for a moment, then goes back to eating, moving on to the pile of onions on the side of the box. "Clint."

Clint visibly struggles not to praise Bucky for remembering his name. Well, points for trying, Bucky guesses. 

"Uh huh?"

"Why do you get onions if you don't like them?"

"Oh! Well, I just... I just tell them to give me all the pizza they have ready. Then I don't have to wait around. I like most pizza. Honestly I only pick out the onions when I'm getting full, they're not that bad. If they're on pizza." Clint looks misty-eyed in to the middle distance as he says the word pizza, like it's his long-lost love, and not a stack of inanimate dough chunks in immediate arm's reach.

Bucky takes another few bites. He... kind of understands. 

"Oh hey! Are you cold? Do you want some clothes? Uh. Do you know what clothes—"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I know what clothes are."

"Oh, sma—"

"Don't say it."

"I wasn't gonna!" He totally was gonna.

Bucky looks warily at Clint. Clothes hinder the shift; this could be a trick. But Clint seems so completely, transparently, innocuously pleased about, well, _everything_ to do with Bucky that he can't find it in himself to be all that suspicious. "Clothes might be nice."

Clint beams, and dashes off to his room, returning with a pair of purple sweatpants and a t-shirt saying "I AIM TO PLEASE!"

Bucky's suddenly not hungry any more. He puts on the pants, but stares down at the shirt, idly tracing the shape of the target. "So. You hunt."

Clint looks aghast. "I sure as hell don't!"

Now Bucky's confused. "But... I saw you. The bow and arrow."

"I shoot, sure. I shoot _really well_. That's what I do, I'm an archer, I help run the lanes in town and give lessons. To hunters sometimes, sure, but mostly to sport archers and kids. Majority of hunters use rifles, and I'm out of the gun game now."

Now? Meaning he was in it before?

"So no, I don't hunt. I never saw the appeal, you know? It's too... easy. And I don't need the meat, I'd rather eat pizza." Clint looks fondly at the now empty boxes on the table, then adds "And I sure as hell don't want the trophies. That shit is creepy."

Bucky snorts as Clint says it's too easy, then pauses, remembering the impossible-looking shots he'd seen him make in the woods that day. Maybe it was too easy. But if Clint's not the hunter—and looking over at his big goofy smile as he restrains himself, barely, from reaching over to pat Bucky's hair, Bucky is pretty sure he's being honest—then who is? Where did those two wolves go?

"Oh hey, want some hot chocolate? I was gonna make some." Clint gets up and starts banging around, dropping a pot on his foot. "Oh wait! Nevermind, I forgot, chocolate is bad for dogs. Jeez, I'm sorry, that was—"

"I AM NOT. A DOG."

"Sorry, sorry!"

Bucky eyes Clint.

"So when you... look... sort of a lot like a dog... you're actually a...?"

"Wolf. Obviously."

"Right! Right. You said. Um. Can wolves have chocolate?"

"Humans can have chocolate. Right now I'm a human."

"Is that a yes to hot cocoa?"

Bucky pretends to think about it for a minute, biting back an embarrassingly enthusiastic yes. Oh god, he is in so much trouble here, isn't he. Is this what Nat meant about he'd like what he found? "I suppose."

"Um, okay! Hey, why don't you head to the living room, I'll bring it out? We can watch dog cops! Um, not because you're a dog! You're not! It's just a good show!"

Bucky tucks the t-shirt in to his waistband and walks to the couch. An hour later, belly full of cocoa and pizza, he's in wolf form, head in Clint's lap, rapidly dozing off as Clint pats his head and offers plot commentary in a low, soothing voice. 

=====

Bucky doesn't even pretend to himself that he's not going to go see Clint in the evenings after that. He does make a point of leaving each night and sleeping in his den, and spending the daytime hours ranging further afield, searching for signs of other hunters or of his missing packmates. They hadn't been wolves he knew well; but a threat to one was a threat to all. That was the point of pack.

=====

Clint starts making side dishes along with the ubiquitous pizza. It turns out wolves like macaroni and cheese. And stew. Salad: not so much. The day he makes banana bread, Bucky makes off with the whole second loaf in his mouth when he wolfs off for the night. Heh. Clint possibly left it unattended on purpose. He may be clumsy, he may be open, but by god they didn't keep him on as a spy for ten years out of charity.

=====

After a couple of weeks, Bucky makes a trip back to the village's bounds and waits for a sentry to intercept him. It's Nat; somehow he's not surprised. She has a sixth sense for putting herself in the path of information. Bucky shifts and waits for her to do the same.

"'Tasha."

"How's your errand going, James?"

"Not great. I came to tell Steve that I haven't found any sign of the missing pair or of the hunter yet."

"Anything you _have_ found?" she asks coyly, fingering her arrow necklace.

Bucky narrows his eyes. "Why no, nothing I can think of worth mentioning." Two can play at this game. And one of them can lose spectacularly, and Bucky knows it's going to be him, but maybe Natasha doesn't have to find that out _immediately._

She eyes him and finds something worth a smug half-smile in his expression. Goddamnit, she can read him like a board book.

"Tell Steve I'm going to keep looking. And that the human at the spot he marked on the map is not dangerous. The hunter must be somewhere else."

"Not dangerous, mm?" She holds his eyes for a moment.

He stares back. "Not a hunter."

"I'll give you that." She shifts back and lopes off.

=====

Clint used to relish the private lessons he picked up; extra money, sweet, and a nice social occasion with plenty of archery talk. He's not really made for the solo life, when you get down to it. He likes a lot of space... but also people to enjoy it with.

But lately? He'd just as soon skip them and head home early to cook something new for Bucky to try. Coax him in to a pettable wolf shape after. Or maybe he'd let him pet his hair in human shape... Clint has been trying not to let his attraction ruin his enjoyment of his new dog pal—wolf! wolf, not a dog, right, right—but Bucky's human shape is sure... dang. It's sure up Clint's alley. As long as he doesn't think too hard about him also being a wolf. He's not kinky like that. He just really likes dogs—as platonic pals—and really likes adorable, surly, hairy, super built hunks. As non-platonic naked-fun-time pals. Gah, his head hurts thinking about it too hard. Plus if he goes there in his mind he has to acknowledge the idea that his new best friend is an actual werewolf.

Aw, shit, there it is. Werewolf. Yes. Now he's thought it; he can't unthink it; and this all sounds crazy and magical and therefore doomed. Clint closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to focus on the lesson he's giving.

It's not helping that his students are a couple of assholes. Their truck has a full gun rack—very nice guns, Clint begrudgingly allows, unable to turn off his professional eye for all that he's retired from the spy biz—and they are itching to go hunting ASAP. Licenses for large game they could shoot with guns aren't up for another couple weeks, but bowhunting licenses for game birds are available from the first week of autumn. Judging by their shitty equipment and apparent disinterest in what he's saying about their stances, what they actually want is to have a bow license on hand to look legit on the surface while they get an early start on gun season. Clint makes a mental note to twig the local ranger's office to the possibility. And sighs internally, and corrects their stances again, pulling up a false smile that he hopes reaches his voice. They _are_ paying customers.

=====

Bucky returns to Clint's woods, unsettled by Natasha's X-Ray vision. Does she know about Clint? If so, does she know about the real hunter or where the wolves went? Bucky doesn't think she'd screw around with pack on the line, not even to mess with him. He shakes himself and tries to put it out of his mind. Sun's gonna rise; Nat's gonna nat. He strikes out in a new direction, continuing his grid search for the missing wolves or some sign of a wolf-hunter. 

He focuses on the search. 

He focuses on the search double.

He... wonders what Clint is making for dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

It's mushroom risotto, and it's amazing. Clint grins to beat the band as he watches Bucky wolf it down. Heh. Wolf it down. 

Clint says this out loud to Bucky.

Bucky looks at Clint scornfully.

Clint, undeterred, goes to get a pan of brownies out of the oven.

Bucky's eyes go round and his mouth opens involuntarily. What is that SMELL. What is this WITCHCRAFT.

Clint sits back and watches Bucky introduce himself to brownies, his smile getting wider and wider.

That evening on the couch watching Dog Cops, Clint tugs Bucky's head over to his lap and strokes his hair. Bucky doesn't bother shifting. 

The episode ends, but neither of them get up. The Petflix queue eventually gives up and goes back to the main menu. Clint is still stroking Bucky's hair, breathing as quietly as he can, not wanting to spoil things, until all at once their words are tripping over each other as they realize the hour.

"Clint—" "Do you have t—" "Can I—"

Bucky sits up and laughs, then seems to remember he's supposed to be taciturn and plasters on a serious face. 

Clint looks over, a hand behind his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "You were ah, saying?"

Bucky _picks Clint up_ and swings him around, arranging him, straddled, on his lap, as easily as if he were a paper doll. "I really wasn't."

Fuck that was hot. Clint gulps and says... and says... Clint's mouth parts slightly as all the eloquent nothing he is managing to say gets out.

Bucky leans in close and takes Clint's face in his hands, a speculative, predatory look on his face. "How about you. What were you saying?"

Clint's not a romantic genius. He's fucked up love-related situations large and small, from flirting disasters to a full-on divorce. But this? He's pretty sure he's getting the picture here.

"Not a damn thing," he says, and kisses, and kisses, and kisses Bucky, and ohhhh heck. This is probably all going to come crashing down on him later; Bucky is a goddamn imaginary creature or something and Clint is... is Clint, things just always go wrong, and... and... and Clint doesn't care. This is worth it. Whatever happens later, this. Is. Worth. It.

=====

Bucky has apparently given up on waiting until he gets home to get laid. Everything about getting involved with a vanilla, stock human is a bad idea. It puts the pack at risk, it makes him distracted, it... it... fuck it. Clint is warm and kind and strong and sass all mixed together, and he made _brownies_ , and he doesn't hunt but Jesus Christ he's poetry with his sticks and strings, and is he like that in bed too, and he tastes. So. Good. Bucky is human enough to know that being a Good Boy doesn't have to be priority one all the time. Sometimes being a bad boy is more fun.

They come up for air, and Bucky drags his teeth along Clint's exposed neck. He just leaves his throat open so casually..! Bucky should be insulted not to be taken as a serious threat, but somehow it comes off as sweet instead. Clint is making a keening noise of wanting, panting—and he thought _Bucky_ was the dog? Project much? Clint reaches down to ruck Bucky's shirt up, hands drifting up to brush very attentive nipples. Bucky growls and rips his shirt off, then Clint's. 

"Meep," says Clint.

Bucky grins, showing... that's a lot of teeth.

"Meep!" says Clint, shrinking back in to his no-longer-present shirt.

Bucky stands up, picking Clint up as he does, and carries him to the bedroom. Clint is pretty sure he's going to have bruises on the spots Bucky's fingers are gripping, no, _kneading_ his ass, and he is _very okay with this._

"Meeeeep!" says Clint, his pale eyes now dark with interest.

Bucky pauses in front of the bed. "Does that... mean something?"

Clint swallows. "Nothing bad! Carry on! Keep carrying! On! What you're... we're... meep!"

Bucky tilts his head with a puzzled look, then shrugs and tosses Clint on the bed. He lets his pants drop to the floor and prowls over on top of Clint, caging him between his arms.

"Mee-yep," says Bucky. "Am I saying it right?"

"It's not really.. uh..." Clint fumbles.

Bucky yanks Clint's pants down, then rips his underwear off.

"Meep!" says Clint.

"Meep! Meep. Meep?" says Bucky. "Seriously, what is a meep?"

"It's... uh... look, just kiss me and I'll stop saying it."

Ah. That one transcends the culture barrier. Bucky grins, then licks in to Clint's open mouth, tongue eagerly lapping up whatever the hell Clint might have said next. Clint, relieved to be out of the talking game for the moment, lets himself sink in to the kiss. He runs his thumbs over Bucky's nipples, and is rewarded with a gasp, and then a grunt as Bucky presses his hips down against Clint. Clint has been hard since sometime during the head stroking in the living room; Bucky isn't sure when he caught up, but it may have been a week or two ago judging by how he's feeling right now. A rumble starts up in his chest. Clint bites his lower lip, then Bucky's lower lip, and there's more licking and biting and Bucky's dragging his teeth on Clint's neck and--"Nnnnghh!"

Bucky sits back for a moment. "Do you not use actual words? Is this a tradition for you?"

"You should be flattered," gasps Clint. "Hnnnghhhh, come back here."

Bucky obeys. Good boy. Oh god, thinks Clint, I need to not think that during sex.

"There's... ngghh... lube and condoms in the... ah! nightstand."

"There's... what?"

"Lube? rication? And condoms?"

Bucky raises an eyebrow, sitting back. Clint pulls back and sits up. "Oh sweetheart. Is this your first time?"

Bucky growls.

"Okay! It's not! It's not! Um. Is it your... first time with a human? I mean... you're human now, but I mean... uh..."

"I know what you mean. And no. But... it's been a long time. Since I left my home. What are your accessories? Did sex get really weird while I was away?"

"Well not that weird, just... here. Lube is just slick goo. It makes everything slide easier. You'll like it, I promise. It's messy but soooo worth it. And condoms are... uh, here." Clint tears in to the foil and unrolls a condom. "It's a... cover? So you don't get pregnant, or--"

Bucky looks at him flatly. "Pregnant."

Clint flushes. "I mean, obviously that's not a risk here! But also, it's protection from disease. There are sicknesses you can pass between partners, and this stops that from happening."

Bucky looks dubious.

Clint places a finger under Bucky's chin and tips his face up to look at him. "Hey, it's not a big deal, it's easy, I promise. Except it is a big deal, in that if you don't want to use one, I need us to stop here and do something else. No hard feelings if that's what you choose, you just need to let me know. Okay?"

Bucky makes a somewhat confused whine, head tilted, but nods. "I'll... try it? What do I do."

Clint smiles. "Allow me." He leans down to take Bucky in to his mouth, sucking the tip briefly, then pulling off to stroke down his length with lightly-lubed fingers. Bucky's eyes are closed and his head tipped back, the rumble in his chest growing louder. Clint pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it down, brushing the back of his hands over Bucky's balls idly when he gets there. "That's it! Then it's just... you know... sex, only this is between us. It's thin, you won't notice it much."

Bucky leans forward again, dumping Clint back against the mattress. "Is that so," he says, low and broken next to Clint's ear. 

"Meep!" says Clint.

Bucky tries unsuccessfully to restrain his laughter.

Clint pinches his nipples. "Meep!" says Bucky. 

"See? _See?_ " 

Bucky glares.

Clint reaches over for the bottle of lube. "So part 2 of twenty first century human sex: lube." He generously coats two fingers and reaches down to start to finger himself open. "It makes everything a little more comfortable. You can move a little faster."

"Oh, I can move pretty fast," murmurs Bucky, biting Clint's neck. Clint keens and speeds up the movements of his fingers, other hand reaching for Bucky's cock. Bucky swats the hand away, then takes the bottle of lube and coats his own hand. "Learn fast, too." He draws Clint's hand out from between his legs and presses his own thick fingers against his entrance, pressing one, then two fingers inside. He guides Clint's hand to hold his own cock, and he holds it tightly, too distracted to even really stroke it much as Bucky adds a third finger. Clint bites down on the side of his free hand, stifling a cry. Bucky preens a bit, then slowly pulls his fingers out. Clint pouts for a moment, but Bucky is just pausing to put more lube on—oh he does learn fast. He lines himself up at Clint's entrance and presses in smoothly, in one swift motion. His eyes widen as he does.

"Oh! That is... that is something else."

"Hnngnghh," says Clint.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. Clint grins. "Hey, it wasn't meep." 

"Oh I'll meep you." This is not exactly Bucky's finest moment in repartée, but Clint is not in a position to parry as Bucky starts to move in him, picking up speed with an absent, stunned look on his face. "Oh hell. Lube is—unhh—lube is nice stuff."

"Ain't... ain't it nice?" Clint is not doing so hot in the coherent sentences department. Bucky feels really, really good inside him. Belatedly, he remembers his dick is in his hand. Which... normally he wouldn't forget? He's pretty sure? He resumes stroking himself and makes... he doesn't know what kind of face except it's definitely not dignified. Bucky seems to like it, though, growling happily and grinning... well, wolfishly, as he thrusts. Bucky leans in and bites down on Clint's ear lobe, eliciting a gasp, then bites his way down his neck, sucking little marks in as he goes. Clint is... Clint is... wow. Clint is. Clint is. Clint is coming. Clint is coming _right now_. Clint has _arrived_. CLINT IS DEFINITELY HERE.

Bucky cries out too, moving faster now as Clint twitches through his completion. "Ah! Just like that, sweetheart. Feels so good, feeling you coming all around my cock." Huh! Clint wouldn't have figured Bucky for a sweet-talker, but then there's a lot about this... relationship? that isn't exactly what Clint was expecting about life on earth in general, never mind his retirement to a cabin in the woods in specific. Bucky suddenly thrusts deep and hard, gripping the nape of Clint's neck tightly with one strong hand as he comes. What the... what is that about? His hold is painful for a moment, but then something in Clint untenses and he relaxes in to it, and it feels... really comforting. 

Wolves, man.

They lie entwined and sticky for a while, Bucky nearly purring on Clint's chest. Do wolves purr? That's just cats, right? It sure sounds like purring, though. 

"So your fucking stuff," Bucky manages, then decides words are too hard and just gives a big thumbs up.

Ah, lube, what can't it do.

=====

They untangle, and Clint takes off Bucky's condom and shows him how to knot it up before chucking it. Clint feels very educational. Bucky is bemused. They have a shower and Bucky goes from bemused to straight-up blissed out. He had... he had forgotten how nice hot water was. It never seemed that important at home. You want a bath? Shift and go for a swim! Or shift and suddenly you don't really care, more likely. Getting rid of smells makes everything boring as a wolf. As a sticky, post-coital man? It makes everything _awesome_.

And shampoo! Had he used shampoo when he was out in the world before? He can't remember now. Everything seems fuzzy and grey from those days, overshadowed by the lack of Steve, by the knowledge his absence was most likely to be filled in with news of a dead body, if by anything at all. But Steve's home now. And Bucky has freaking _conditioner_. He lets Clint comb and dry his hair, making a murder face the whole time so Clint will know not to compare him to a dog being groomed. Clint either gets the message or is too blissed out himself to want to do more than hum happily.

Clint puts on some boxers and gets ready for bed; Bucky looks indecisive for a moment. He kisses Clint. "I'll see you—" 

"Stay?"

Bucky freezes.

"I mean, if you want. But... you're not going all the way home to your pack, are you. It's farther than that. Isn't it?"

Bucky nods, wary.

"So... wherever you've been sleeping... is probably less comfortable than... here?" Clint looks at the ceiling. "And um. I'd like it. If you stayed. If you want."

Clint keeps his eyes focused elsewhere, but adopts an open stance casually. Clint has some experience with stray cats and dogs, and Bucky is NOT A DOG, sure, but... 

Bucky creeps up to Clint, eyeing him. Clint extends an arm idly. Bucky decides suddenly and gathers Clint up all at once in a growly hug. Clint grins behind Bucky's back.

=====

Tucked in to Bucky's chest—there was no real question of who the big spoon would be, Bucky asserting his cutlery dominance without conscious thought—Clint asks "So uh, what was the neck thing?"

"Neck thing?"

"At the... uh. When you were coming. You grabbed my neck? I mean I'm not complaining, it felt kind of... nice."

Bucky turns beet red. "Oh my god, did I scruff you?"

"I guess so? Is that scruffing? Is that, um, bad?"

"It's... maybe a little insulting? Moms do it to pups. Or an alpha might scruff another wolf to show dominance. But I wasn't... I mean, you..."

"Hey, hey, it's okay! I was just curious. I'm not insulted. You weren't trying to insult me, right?"

"No! No, no, I... I didn't really notice I was doing it. I just felt um, I guess I felt..."

"Like you wanted to take care of me?"

Bucky turns, if possible, an even deeper shade of red.

"Yes," he whispers. "Like that."

Clint rubs his cheek on Bucky's chest and cuddles in close. "Then I liked it. A lot."

=====

Clint makes a huge breakfast in the morning, double everything and a huge pot of coffee. Can wolves have coffee? He's not going to ask, he's just going to leave it there and let Bucky decide. Bucky has a gratuitous extra shower before breakfast, purely to bask in the glory of hot running water, before showing up to the table in another purple outfit ganked from Clint's dresser. He looks slightly nervous.

"So," he starts, twisting one hand in the other. "I'm a werewolf."

Clint tries not to laugh, and manages a reasonably solemn "I... actually had that part figured out."

Bucky glares. "I wasn't done!"

"Sorry, sorry!"

"I'm a werewolf, and I came here because I'm looking for someone. Two wolves from my pack are missing, and there are rumours of a hunter. So I came here—"

"Oh! That's why you wanted to know if I hunted?"

Bucky nods. 

"Yikes, what if I had said yes?"

Bucky bites his lip and looks at the ceiling. "I... probably would have torn your throat out a little bit."

"A little bit, eh?"

"Yup. Little bit."

"Well! Good thing I don't hunt."

"I'm pretty happy about it too." Bucky leans in to kiss Clint's cheek, and licks his forehead on impulse. Some habits die hard.

"Blarghrj!" Clint gets up and scrounges around for a napkin. "Wolves are gross."

"I'm just glad you stopped calling me a dog."

"Well made your feelings on that pretty clear. With like, teeth and growling and stuff."

Bucky stands up and goes to fit himself behind Clint, speaking low in to his ear. "You seemed to like the teeth and growling last night."

Clint spins around to face Bucky. "Well that was different." He licks Bucky's cheek. Two can play at this game.

Five minutes later, Clint is pinned to the floor, his face dripping with saliva, and Bucky is doubled over laughing. Yup, two can play at this game, but only one can win, and _it's not Clint._

"I give, I give! Let me up, you slobbery bastard!"

Bucky sits on Clint instead. "Now, what was I saying?"

"Were you talking about _how heavy wolves are?_ "

"Mmmmm... no." But Bucky gets up anyway, offering Clint a hand up, and they both sit back down to breakfast.

"So why are you telling me this now? Was it the seduction? It's my seductive powers, isn't it."

"Well... yes? Kind of. I'm not really supposed to tell anyone about... us. About werewolves. Once you found me eating pizza in my den and I had to change so you wouldn't shoot me, things have been... I haven't been sure what to do."

"Huh."

"But I do now."

"And... what's that?"

"I'm not going to kill you." Bucky tucks in to his scrambled eggs. Clint spits out his coffee. 

"THAT WAS ON THE TABLE?!"

"What, your coffee?"

"No, killing me!"

"Well, yeah. That's how we usually handle things. But... I, uh." It's not that Bucky is usually chatty or anything. But his sudden loss for words is _adorable_.

"Aw, I like you too, Bucky."

Bucky smiles shyly. Clint thinks his face is about to be licked again and quickly takes up a forkful of sausage to defend himself with.

"Anyway. I need to tell my alpha. My pack leader. I need to go back anyway, to tell him I still haven't found our missing, or the hunter. If there is a hunter."

"Is your alpha gonna... be okay with that? With, with me? Being, uh. Alive. Because that's pretty important to me. That part."

"Steve will get it. A lot of wolves wouldn't, but he's... he's unusual. He left the pack for 75 years to go help humans in a war, because he thought it was the right thing to do. He'll understand."

"Should I go with you?"

"NO!"

"Ahhh! Okay!"

"Sorry, that was louder than I-- it would be a bad idea until Steve gives the official okay. The sentries would murder the shit out of you, for one thing, and then--"

"No, no, you had me at murder, you can skip the rest, I'm good."

Bucky smiles tentatively. "Well... good. I just. Wanted to explain before I left. I might be a couple days. But Clint?"

"Yeah, Bucky?"

"I'm coming back for you."

Clint can't stop the goofy grin he can feel forming on his face. He doesn't even want to.

=====

Bucky kisses Clint, licks his face, skins out of his borrowed purple outfit, and shifts. He takes off at a run, and Clint watches until he's out of sight in the woods, fondness lighting him up from the inside out. He heads back inside and gets ready for work. It's a light day today, just minding the lanes; his dickish private students cancelled. But last minute, so he's still getting paid for it. Sweet!

=====

Bucky's no youngling new to wolf shape. He's cunning and fast and keen of eye and ear and scent. But he's distracted today, and with the autumn leaf litter coating the forest floor, that's all it takes. A trap snaps closed over one of his forepaws. He howls in pain; he tries to shift, but something... something is stopping him from completely going over. His body, his mind, flicker between wolf and man selves. It's hard to think clearly. He howls again, but if anyone answers him, he's not awake to hear it.

=====

On day 2, Clint is wiggly. He can be patient. Sniper. Paaaaatient. But he misses Bucky already.

On day 3, he's mildly insufferable. Ron, the owner of the archery range, suggests he take a few days off. "Go on, kid, it's slow this time of year. Go for a hike, clear your mind, we'll keep."

On day 4, he begins to be worried. Bucky said a couple days. Four is more than a couple, right? If not, boy was Clint doing dating wrong. No, no, focus Clint. Bucky's a tough guy. Wolf. Whatever. Maybe Steve was out of town wolfing it up and he had to wait.

On day 5, Clint heads out after him.


	4. Chapter 4

After six hours of hiking, Clint isn't exactly sure if he's close or far or has missed it entirely. He lost any sign of Bucky before he hit the edge of his property, but he figures that wolf territories are huge, and if this one has... murder sentries... he'll run in to them eventually, right? Bucky understands him when he's a wolf, he knows that. Or else he was damn good at pretending he was following the plot of Dog Cops. So... hopefully Clint can talk the sentries down before they get to the, y'know, murder part. He knows carrying his bow is not going to help his case, but if something is out here bad enough to waylay Bucky, he's not going up against it with a bowie knife and good intentions. 

Although he _is_ a very good knife thrower.

In the end he doesn't have to talk at all. A red wolf appears out of nowhere, and before he can say anything, shifts.

In to... Natasha.

"Clint? What are you doing here?" 

"What the hell are YOU doing here?" Clint sputters.

"I asked first."

"Well yeah, but..." Clint waves at her naked, was-just-a-wolf body. "I feel like you have more to explain here."

She cocks an eyebrow, somehow making him feel like the ridiculous one. "I doubt it. Come with me." She turns and starts walking. Clint stands there for a moment, trying to replay how this just happened, and then gives up and follows her. He didn't make it through 8 years as her partner by trying to fight the tide. And Natasha was a force of nature, no doubt. Just... maybe a little more nature than he'd previously been aware of.

Wolves appear more and more as they keep walking, the odd one snapping at Clint before Natasha whirls around with a quelling glare. Apparently that works on wolves just as well as it always has on Clint, most of SHIELD, enemy operatives the world over, and random pedestrians.

In time they arrive in an open area with huts and firepits and wolves everywhere, intermingling with humans in varying states of undress. More dressed than not; it's chilly out. Natasha leads him to a centrally located hut with a low doorway; Clint ducks his head and follows her in.

"Natasha? You want to tell me what this is about?" says the man inside, voice milder than his sharp glance suggests.

"Something interesting I found on the perimeter."

"Steve ROGERS?! Aren't you retired?" says Clint. He pauses. "Wait, and aren't you... taller?"

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Natasha, you never come to make my life easy, do you."

"That's not really her specialty," puts in Clint, sympathetic.

Steve eyes him with amusement. "Well, sit down. This might take a while."

=====

Natasha is a werewolf, okay. Clint had figured that out. He guesses he knows what her mysterious "roots" are now. He feels like he should be more spun around by it, but after going through the whole "So, werewolves are real" experience with Bucky, this just feels perfectly, classically, Natasha, a cryptic mix of WTF and grace and secrecy.

Steve, now. Steve Rogers was _legendary_ at SHIELD. The World War II super-soldier, the only one of his kind, killed heroically saving America from Nazi bombs, only to be revived fifty years later from his frozen plane, kept alive by the wild science that had made him so formidable in the first place. Or... maybe by more than that, Clint realizes now. Unfrozen, Steve had gone on to lead dozens of SHIELD missions, notably including repelling an alien attack and rousting actual fucking modern Nazis out of SHIELD itself. He had retired a few years after that, not long after Clint had started with the agency. Clint knew Coulson had begged him to stay on—Steve was just as strong and big and young as ever on the day he retired as the day he got the serum, only with dozens of years of strategy and experience tacked on now—but Rogers had said his heart wasn't in it without his old friends. Clint just hadn't realized his old friends were still _alive,_ waiting for him at home in the woods.

"But... why are you small now? I'm not imagining that, right? I know we've only met like twice, but..."

"This is how I was born. This is how I looked before the serum they used to make me a soldier."

"So it wore off..?"

"Not exactly. It just couldn't withstand the shift to wolf shape and back."

"Wait, so you spent..."

"75 years in human shape. God, I was so _itchy_ by the time I retired. I'd have done it a lot sooner if I knew how worried Bucky was about me."

"Oh my god, Bucky! Steve, Nat, that's why I'm here."

Steve sits up sharply. 

Natasha starts growling. "What's wrong with Bucky? _Where is he?_ "

"That's just it, I don't know!"

"How did you meet—wait..." Steve looks at Natasha sternly. She whimpers and exposes her throat.

"Clint was... what I thought Bucky might like to find. If you knew them both... well. I do. But I didn't..."

"Clint? What happened?"

"Bucky was... we became friends, and I kind of... accidentally found out he was a werewolf? But anyway, he said he was going to come back to tell you he hadn't found your two missing wolves or the hunter, and also please not to murder me—No, really, that was part of it!" Nat rolls her eyes. "He said he'd be gone a couple days. That was four nights ago."

=====

Steve wastes no time in shifting to wolf shape—holy shit, he's HUGE, that's more like the Steve Clint remembers—and walking out to the center of the village, letting out one loud, long, mournful howl that brings dozens of wolves running. He shifts back and starts explaining the plan, picking out six wolves in addition to himself and Natasha to spread out and track Bucky's scent. The rest he sends to beef up the sentry line; if something out there can harm Bucky, the village's families and elders are doubly at risk.

"And me," puts in Clint. "I'm coming too." 

Steve raises an eyebrow. Clint gets the impression he'd just shift and pin him to the earth to settle this if Clint were one of his wolves. Well, good thing he's not.

"Look, Clint, it's great you want to help, but you're just going to hold us back."

Unexpectedly, Natasha weighs in. "Steve. He can handle himself. Let him come."

Steve turns to Natasha. She nods. He raises both eyebrows and shrugs. "All right. I trust your judgement."

"He was my partner for 8 years. You know my standards. Besides, can't you smell it?"

Steve takes in a deep breath. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I don't think we'd be able to keep him away if we caged him."

Steve cringes slightly at the word cage, but says nothing, shifting, and leading the way out of the village. 

"Uh, Nat? What did I just miss?"

"Come on, we're going."

"Seriously, Nat?!"

"We can have this discussion later, Clint."

"No! Well, yes! But it's happening!"

Natasha shifts and chuffs what might be a lupine laugh, then lopes off. Clint snugs up his bow and quiver and takes off after her.

=====

Inside of twenty minutes they've found Bucky's blood. Clint pales a bit when he sees it. Natasha shifts back for a moment to reassure him. "He's still alive, or he was when he left this spot. He's very hard to kill, Clint. We're going to find him." Clint looks in to her eyes and finds the steadiness she always keeps there for him. She looks back, finding some flavour of reassurance in his gaze in return. They've always been this way, had this wordless give and take of support. As long as it's never voiced, Natasha can show a love so fierce and deep it's a little terrifying. Clint was hurt when she cut out of his life so suddenly at SHIELD. But here she is when he needs her, wearing the arrow necklace he gave her after Budapest as a way of saying thanks without actually saying it. He should never have doubted her.

Although probably she wanted him to doubt her. She's got layers like an onion. But Clint will never pick her off his pizza.

Clint is dissociating a little bit, he realizes abruptly.

"Clint? You with me?"

Natasha's face swims in to view. "I... yeah. Sorry. I'm just. I'm worried about him."

She smiles tightly. "I knew you'd like my present for you. Come on. Let's go get him."

=====

The blood trails off quickly, but the scent is strong, and nothing, but nothing is keeping Steve away from his best friend. He looks back once to Clint, trailing at the end of the pack, and Clint waves him on ahead. Steve nods and puts on a fresh burst of speed. Clint can track them; they're not being subtle about this. And if he's going to be helpful, it'll likely be from a distance.

=====

To his surprise, the trail swings around back toward home, toward town. The pack slows down and starts creeping more carefully as the human settlement comes in to view. They converge on a motel. Okay, on _the_ motel; it's not a big town. It's a snazzy motel at least. Waterslide and everything.

Clint. Keep it together.

Steve shifts, frowning at the building. "He's in there. Tony, Natasha, you shift and come in with me. Sam--"

"Uh, Steve?"

"What, Clint?"

"You didn't bring any clothes, did you?"

Steve looks down. "Oh."

"Yeah that might be kind of noticeable."

Steve bristles. "Well let them notice! I'm not going to wait until nightfall while Bucky is bleeding in there."

"Hey, hey, I know! But maybe there's another way."

=====

Clint strolls down the street, walking his dog. He waves at someone familiar across the street. What's her name, from the bakery. Linda? Lisa! His "dog" growls softly. Oh. Right. _Focus_. Natasha strains at her leash as they pass the motel, and he dekes around to the back side and the rooms there. They face the scrubby vacant lot where the rest of the pack is laying low—perfect.

Rest of? Is he pack now?

Clint. Later.

At the sixth door along, Natasha stops. Clint looks down at her, and she nods. He makes sure no one else is visible in the parking lot, and waves at the vacant lot. The pack creep closer. If anyone comes around this is going to look pretty weird, but Clint's talked his way out of weirder situations. He's pretty sure everyone in town will believe he just really, really likes dogs and got in over his head.

Natasha and Sam shift and take either side of the door. Steve stays in his enormous wolf form along with the others. Clint puts on his best goofy smile and knocks on the door.

"We don't need housekeeping today!" pipes up a voice from inside. Why does that voice sound familiar? 

Clint knocks again. "What? Who is it?" 

Clints knocks a third time. The irritated voice stomps over to the door and opens it a crack, ready to tell off whoever is bothering them. A crack is plenty; Sam kicks the door open and Natasha is kicking the guy's head before he gets another word in. The wolves stream around Clint and in to the room, surrounding a second man. Now Clint places the voice of the first guy—these are his not very promising private students from a couple weeks ago. His blood is boiling thinking about every fake smile he came up with for them, knowing that they're somehow connected with—where's Bucky?

Steve is way ahead of him, though; he's at the bathroom door —locked—and has shifted, is now trying to force it open. Clint looks back at the main door and jerks his head at Sam, who catches on and closes it before someone notices the room full of wolves. Sam sets out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. Nice. Clint walks over to Steve. "If I may?"

A frustrated Steve looks up, territorial, then relaxes as he remembers where he knows Clint from originally. Clint smiles and takes out some picks. A motel bathroom door is not exactly a challenge, but this isn't an Escape Room for larks; he wants to make sure Bucky is alive, now. And if he isn't... Clint will deal with that if he has to. He has Natasha with him.

But Bucky is in the tub, still breathing, just. He's in wolf form, his left foreleg hanging limply from his shoulder. Steve darts in and shifts, whining and licking Bucky's face. Clint squats down and strips the lace from one of his boots, applying a crude tourniquet above the crush wound. He winces as he inspects it. Clint's not exactly a medic, but he's hurt himself in so many different ways over the years that he's something of an injury connoisseur. He's pretty sure Bucky's not going to keep this leg. Arm. Leg. Whatever. God, as long as he stays alive..!

Tony has shifted now too; he and Sam are dressed in clothes swiped from the hunters' suitcases. "Come on. Let's get him to a vet."

"You guys go to vets?"

Tony looks faintly amused. "It's usually cheaper than going to a doctor in human form. Besides," he continues, more soberly "there's no way Bucky can shift in that condition."

Sam and Tony gingerly shift Bucky on to a doubled up set of towels, and Clint leads them out to the pick-up truck he recognizes as belonging to the hunter pair. Natasha, naked and twice as intimidating that way, stays with the hunters, along with five wolves headed up by a large, unhappy Steve. The hunter who is still conscious loses bladder control. Good, thinks Clint. Serves him right.

The drive to the vet is nerve-racking. Clint wants to stay in the truck bed with Bucky, but decides he doesn't want it enough to let a wolf drive him anywhere. The vet is about a half hour out of town, closer to the farm lots with horses and goats that make up much of their practice, but Clint knows the vet, and she does for dogs and cats in a pinch too, knowing that the next closest pet vet is another hour's drive. Clint hopes that a huge wolf with a major trauma wound is close enough to a dog that she'll be able to help.

Clint's desperate to get there fast, but forces himself to take it at a steady speed, babying the truck around corners so as not to jostle Bucky. When they arrive, he at least doesn't look _worse_ , but that's not saying much. Clint pushes in the front doors while Tony and Sam get Bucky ready to move.

"My dog! I mean, wolf! Hound. Wolfhound. Husky. I have a hurt husky. I really, really need help, now!" Clint's stealth skills have closed up shop for the day.

The receptionist blinks at him. "We're pretty booked up. I can fit your... husky, was it? In tomorrow at—" she trails off as Tony and Sam walk in, carrying Bucky on the blood-soaked towels. Oddly, it's not the sight of all the blood that seems to faze her; instead Tony catches her eye and raises his eyebrows expectantly and she stands abruptly, yelling to the back room. 

"Doctor Cho? Your... special out of town patients are here. It looks pretty urgent." 

"Okay, be right there!"

It's a few minutes, but the vet comes out, takes one look, tells the receptionist she's busy for the next two hours, and hustles Tony and Sam down a hallway. She stops Clint. "Go. Sit. I'll send them out too. Let me work." So he does, listening dully to the receptionist reschedule the various waiting patients. Most are understanding, eyeing the puddle of wolf blood still sitting on the floor. One man who had hauled his horse over in a trailer is pretty angry, until Tony and Sam come back. Tony stands near him and starts growling, almost too low to hear with anything but your gut, and the man starts edging away, letting the matter drop, accepting an appointment four hours later.

Natasha calls Clint after about an hour, letting him know that the sheriff's office has the hunters in custody, and thinks that either an animal cruelty or a license violation charge will stick. She grimly adds that their two missing packmates are now accounted for, as bled-out roughly-dressed skins in contractor bags in the motel room. Clint's vision greys out a bit, thinking of the murder of two human beings—at least, part-time human beings—being reduced to a misdemeanour.

"How's Bucky?"

"Don't know yet. They're working on him."

"He's going to be all right, Clint."

Clint wishes he were as sure.

=====

He must fall asleep in his chair; Natasha is there shaking him awake when he next registers something happening. She hands him a cup of coffee and waits until he's three sips in before trying to talk to him. God he's missed her.

"He's out of surgery. He lost his front leg, but he's going to make a full recovery otherwise. Dr. Cho says your tourniquet probably saved him from bleeding out on the trip over."

"Go shoelace," Clint says, somewhat dazed. Bucky's okay. He's alive and he's going to be okay. God, what even is breathing? 

"Come on. He's sedated and won't be awake until tomorrow at the earliest. I'll drive you home and we can come back first thing, okay?" Clint nods and follows Natasha on autopilot. She tucks him in to a station wagon—hers? Stolen? Who knows with Nat.—and takes him home. Not that he told her the address. Probably she's been sitting in a tree watching him on a daily basis and just never mentioned it; that would be pretty on brand for her.

He lies in bed awake for two hours before Natasha comes in with warm milk and glares him to sleep. Even his epic anxiety over his... boyfriend? Wolf-friend? Significant carnivore? Even his epic anxiety over Bucky can't persist in the face of her This Is The Take No Shit Hour face and he manages a few hours of fitful sleep before they truck back over to the vet at 8 to wait for Bucky to wake up.

"Wow, you guys are really concerned for this dog, aren't you!" chirps the receptionist at them. Dr. Cho overhears and waves them through the door to the back. "Sorry. She's new."

Clint looks over at Natasha. "Dr. Cho knows about us. She kind of has to."

"You're very fascinating, biologically. It's an honour to get to treat you."

"Oh I'm not..."

"No?" She looks disappointed. Clint supposes she should. With how often he gets hurt, he would be a treasure trove of fascinating medical opportunities for her if he was a werewolf.

He's distracted by a faint whine. Bucky? He pushes through in to the room ahead of Nat and Dr. Cho. "Bucky!"

He buries his face in Bucky's fur on his less-injured side, softly, careful of bandages, but with an intensity he didn't know he had in himself. Bucky noses at his hair. Clint looks up and gets a face full of wolf tongue for his trouble. 

"Blearagh! Bucky!"

Bucky chuffs a laugh at him.

"I was worried about you, you jerk."

Nat walks over and gives Bucky a head scritch. "Me too. But if you tell anyone, I'll hurt you."

Bucky licks her hand, but Natasha just smiles. Clint guesses that _would_ just seem normal to her. Man.

Bucky falls back asleep after a few minutes of chat, and Dr. Cho shoos them out. But Clint doesn't mind. Bucky's going to be okay. Everything else can wait, as long as that's true.


	5. Chapter 5

"So how come you never told me you're a werewolf?" Natasha is curled up on his couch in a very catlike way, as usual. How is she a _wolf_ and not a panther or something?

"Honestly, I thought you'd worked it out years ago." She purses her lips as if disappointed.

"How would I have done that?!"

"Well. Remember when I pushed back the mission in Dubrovnik until after the full moon?"

"I thought you had new intel or something!"

"All right, do you remember the big red "dog" who kept coming to play with you at the park in DC on days when I wasn't free for range practice?"

"That was YOU?"

Natasha looks at him flatly. 

"Remember in Estonia when I told you I was a werewolf?"

Clint's eyes glaze over at the mention of Estonia. "I really don't."

"Well, we were very, very drunk."

"I'll say."

"Very drunk."

Their eyes meet and they decide simultaneously to change the subject. 

"So! Werewolf, huh. That explains... very little about you, actually."

"Good."

Yup. Still his Natasha. 

"So... those guys. The hunters. Did you find out anything about them? I mean..."

"Why was Bucky in a bathtub, still alive?"

"...yeah."

"They weren't as articulate as one might hope," she starts, smirking, and knowing her skill at interrogation, he's sure she motivated them to do their best, "But apparently he shifted, or tried to, while he was in their trap. They panicked and brought him back to stash in the bathroom while they figured out whether they had a wolf hide or a body to hide."

"I see what you did there."

"I've been saving all my worst tendencies for you, Clint."

"You didn't know you'd see me again, though." Clint can't quite keep the hurt out of his voice. 

"Of course I did. I was going to visit."

"You could have said so!" Clint can feel himself losing this argument the further his voice slips over in to peevish toddler.

"How would that be any fun?"

She gives him a tiny smug smile, hand-crafted. Artisanal. 

Clint sighs. Yeah. Still his Natasha. At least they were neighbours now, in wolf terms. And if she was that dog from DC, maybe she'd still want to play fetch.

=====

A week later, Bucky is well enough to shift, and this accelerates his healing in some funky magic way that Clint doesn't even ask to have explained. It means healing is faster, but it's not so supercharged that it can regrow the arm, is the bottom line. Clint takes him home to his cabin and loves on him with the language of cooking, even making homemade pizza one night; brownies feature nearly daily. Bucky devours everything with gusto; healing is hungry work, especially rapid werewolf healing, apparently.

Bucky's been staying in wolf shape almost all the time he's not eating, to heal up faster. Clint likes the cuddles and scritches just fine, and if he'd rather have a man-shaped Bucky to sleep next to than a wolf-shaped Bucky curled at the foot of the bed, he keeps his mouth shut. Healing is more important. 

So it's a pleasant surprise one night to wake up with a human Bucky spooned up to his back, rumbling happily and poking him, fingers tapping on his flank and, hello, cock presenting an intriguing business proposal to his ass. 

"Clint. Clint. Hey Clint. Clint."

Man. He picked that up fast. Interspecies communication milestone #74: exchange of How To Be A Little Shit techniques.

Clint rolls over. "Hey, Buck. Nice to see you all" he waves vaguely "bipedal?"

"Clint. Clint. Clint. Hey Clint. Clint."

"CAN I HELP YOU WITH SOMETHING."

"Why, yes!" Bucky flops over on his back, for all the world looking like he was begging for a belly rub. Is he begging for a belly rub? Clint starts rubbing his belly on spec.

"Okay good guess, but I thought maybe more... fucky?"

"Hey that rhymes!"

"Don't you even say it."

"With Bucky! And L—" 

Bucky growls and snaps at Clint's face, moving faster than Clint thought he could, missing by millimetres in what has to be careful calculation rather than a narrow escape. Right. Terrifying cryptid beast gets to express boundaries about rhymes. Gotcha. Clint shuts up and resumes rubbing Bucky's belly. Bucky mmms happily and lies back for a moment, seemingly forgetting his previous line of conversation.

Clint leans in and licks his way in to a kiss. Bucky growls, happily this time. "So... fuckier?"

"Yes. And uh. I think maybe you'd better..." Bucky looks at the stump of his left arm meaningfully. "...be on top? Until I'm done healing anyway. I don't think I want to explain to Dr. Cho that I busted my stitches doing pushups in bed."

"Yeah, she'd probably make you wear one of those cones."

The blood drains out of Bucky's face and he looks at Clint, horrified. "She wouldn't. Right?"

Clint draws on all the restraint years of performing have brought to him, which isn't very much, and manages a semi-solemn "We'd better play it safe just in case" before cracking up. Bucky flicks him on the nose. Clint grins and rolls over to straddle Bucky, leaning in close to nuzzle his cheek. "How do you want me? Riding you or fucking you?"

Bucky pulls Clint down for a kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy, while he considers the matter. "Mmm, fucking me."

Clint licks Bucky's nose just to be annoying, and says "Can do!"

Bucky pauses. "That was... really contradictory in wolf body language."

"I don't know if you've noticed this," Clint says, applying a condom and fetching lube, "but I'm not a wolf."

"Are you a dog? I hear dogs are great. I could call you... Clucky."

"Yay, Bucky and Clucky! We can get matching t-shirts!"

Bucky closes his eyes in resignation. "Oh my god, you're impossible to tease."

"Nah, just harder than you. Ask Nat for some tips and you'll be getting my goat like a pro in no time." Clint pauses. "Actually, don't do that. Please don't do that. I'll make you so many brownies if you don't do that."

"How many brownies."

Clint is back in Bucky's face again, dropping little kisses on his cheek, his jaw. "Mmm, I think I'll start with... two," he says, and presses two warm, lubed fingers against Bucky's entrance, pushing inside as Bucky relaxes against them. 

Bucky bites his lip and sighs as Clint works his fingers in and out, pressing a thumb slowly, firmly against his perineum, kissing Bucky's clavicle, each nipple, back up to his jaw. "Two enough?"

"Pretty hungry. Maybe three."

Clint pulls his fingers out and pushes back in with three fingers, holding them still for a moment, then rocking his hand, stretching him open. Bucky's eyes are closed and, adorably, his toes are wiggling for some reason. Clint is very, very hard and very, very down to fuck, and still kind of has to fight the urge to rub his belly some more. "How's three?"

"Delicious. Now stop talking about weird brownie metaphors and get your dick in my ass before I tear your throat out," Bucky says, in a slow, smooth voice that sounds like he's day-dreaming and not threatening imminent death. Wolves, man.

"Yes, sir!" Clint pulls his fingers out with a sharp motion that makes Bucky gasp, and has his cock pressing inside Bucky's hole almost before he can draw the next breath. 

"Unnnhh... that's really... yes."

"Well, nothing like a death threat to motivate a guy to follow instructions, you know?" says Clint, tucking a pillow under Bucky's hips before leaning forward, pressing his belly against Bucky's leaking, rock-hard cock. He's holding absolutely still, because Clint definitely doesn't let a little death threat stop him from being an asshole.

Bucky starts growling.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Clint's mouth practically has a sign saying BUTTER STORAGE FACILITY, GUARANTEED MELT-PROOF.

Bucky growls louder.

"Something you want?"

"I want you to start MOVING."

Clint grins. "Oh! All you had to do was ask." He starts moving in and out at a glacial pace, ever so gently. But it feels really, really, really nice to be inside Bucky, and he can't bring himself to keep up his slow torture much longer. Before long he's settled in to a steady rhythm and found an angle that has Bucky breathing just as hard as he is.

"Unnnh. Anything else you want, sweetheart?"

Bucky looks blissed out and seems to ignore this for a minute, but then says "Clint. Touch me?" 

Clint is happy to oblige, reaching a slick hand between them, stroking Bucky's length in time to his movements. "You going to come for me, Buck? Come while I'm inside you?"

Bucky looks almost _forlorn_ with pleasure. "Yes," he says in a small voice. "Yes, I'm... Clint. Would you."

"What's that, baby? What do you need?"

"Would you." Bucky bites his lip, then continues, between gasps. "Would you tell me. That I'm a good boy."

Clint looks sharply up at Bucky to see if he's putting him on, but Bucky is looking back at him, flushed, eyes dark... nervous? Clint catches his gaze and holds it, his hand on Bucky's cock matching the intensity of his voice. "You are SUCH a good boy. You are the best boy." 

Bucky's mouth drops open as he comes, staring up at Clint, and Clint... damn, Clint has always liked eye contact in bed. Eye contact while Bucky makes _that face_ , his body pressed in close, his muscles clenching around—

Clint is coming even as he's still gentling Bucky through, his soft stroking turning erratic as he finishes, forehead dropping to rest on Bucky's. It's a long moment before he catches his breath enough to slide out and lay down, spent, on the bed, and another long, quiet, contented stretch, one hand stroking Bucky's thigh, before he finds the energy to get up and take care of the condom and bring back a wash cloth to clean up.

"Well that was... was... damn." Good speechwriting there, Clint. 

"Yeah?" Bucky's face still looks soft and vulnerable; Clint is just about ready to _dissolve_ at the thought that Bucky is letting him see him like this.

He leans in and cups Bucky's face with one hand, kisses him soft and light and sweet, whipped butter with honey. "Yeah."

Bucky seems to remember suddenly that he's supposed to be crotchety. He puts on a stern face and a gruff voice. "You are not telling Natasha about the good boy thing. Ever."

Clint's sometimes foolish, but he ain't stupid. "What good boy thing?"

"I'm glad we understand one another." 

Clint smiles softly and pulls Bucky close, tucks his head against his chest. "But you are a very, _very_ good boy." he whispers. 

Bucky thwaps him on the shoulder, but is maybe possibly also smiling. Beat it. You can't prove anything. 

Damn right he's a good boy.

=====

Three weeks later, Steve shows up at the cabin, He'd been held up with funerals—or whatever the werewolf equivalent was—for the two dead wolves, now that their bodies had been recovered, and then in leading hunts for game fattened up for winter to put up against the lean season to come. His time in the human world means he has a small fortune tucked away; they could just go buy food, come to that. But the old ways die hard, and the hunt in their blood is very, very old. Steve looks a bit haggard when he shifts, exhaustion and grief leaving their mark, but perks up when he sees Bucky walking around—if a bit guardedly; his ribs aren't all the way healed yet, and he's still getting used to adjusting his gait for the weight imbalance from his missing arm—and strides over to sink in to a huge hug from the taller man. Clint is a little surprised to see Bucky crouch down to let Steve bite his throat briefly, but he's starting to get the hang of wolf body language and figures this is an alpha thing. He offers them some brownies—Bucky accepts on behalf of both of them—and goes out to shoot targets for a while to let them have some private chat time. He's yanking arrows out of the target on the driveway when he hears them talking on the back porch and wanders back over.

"You're sure, Buck? You know it wouldn't be..."

"I'm sure, Stevie. I know it seems sudden, just--"

"It feels right?"

"It feels right."

"I can understand that," Steve says softly. "That's how I felt back in '41 when I went to join their war."

Bucky looks up at that, face suddenly sad. 

"No, no, Buck, I don't mean it like that. It was... it was good. Feeling like you just 100% knew the right thing to do and all you had to do was get to it. It's... one of the best feelings there is. I've had a lot of grey times since then when I wished I had that feeling of certainty again. If this is the right thing for you? Do it."

Bucky looks up at Steve's face, somehow, despite standing a good 8 inches taller. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Besides, it ain't like we'll be far away."

Bucky smiles, then shifts. Steve shifts too, and Bucky crouches down, awkward with only one front leg, and licks at Steve's nose. Oh, so that's... Huh. He'll ask later. He needs wolf closed-captioning. Maybe Natasha can give him lessons. Actually maybe he should ask Steve. He's pretty sure Natasha AND Bucky would both teach him wrong things just to wind him up. 

Steve chuffs and then takes off for the woods. Clint walks over to the porch from where he'd stopped at the edge of the yard.

"So you're... you want to stay?"

Bucky shifts and turns to face Clint. "Yeah. If that's... is that okay?"

"Heck yeah it's okay!"

Bucky leans over to rest his forehead on Clint's, hands finding his hips. "Well good."

"I guess hunting with the pack would be pretty tricky with three legs, huh."

Bucky leans back and frowns. "First of all, I can bring down any deer, any time, with or without four legs. Second of all, that's bullshit, my value to the pack isn't defined by capitalist puritan work-ethic nonsense. Th--"

"Werewolves have capitalism? And puritans?"

"Exactly! We don't! And thi--"

"I'm sorry, Buck, I know you're a bad-ass, and I wasn't thinking. I—"

"You are going to LET ME FINISH is what you are."

In an unusual display of self-preservation, Clint says nothing.

"Third of all, I'm not staying with you because I'm leaving the pack. I'm leaving the pack because I'm staying with you."

"But those are... so that's... I mean... does that mean... what does that mean?" Clint looks so helpless and confused that it would be endearing if Bucky wasn't so irritated. Bucky's lost a lot of blood recently and his patience isn't fully recouped yet. Anyway it's fun to yell at Clint.

"It means I love you, you moron."

Clint blinks. "Oh!"

"And that I'm not a dog."

Clint blinks some more, then loses it, laughing until Bucky, concerned, has to go inside for a glass of water to get him to stop. Eventually Clint calms down and sits down on the back steps, patting the floor beside him. Bucky shifts and curls up beside him.

"I love you too, you asshole."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yamtimesthree), yellin' about Bucky usually.


End file.
